


It Isn't That Bad

by AWriterIAm



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, OT3, voyerisum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriterIAm/pseuds/AWriterIAm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry never knows what to do when Louis and Zayn fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Isn't That Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. Mindless Zourry.

Harry never knows what to do when Louis and Zayn fight.

They've always been the worst when it comes to arguments; nasty, toxic, hold grudges until their cheeks turn blue and eyes burst red. Harry's not a fighter. He likes to admit when he's wrong and apologize, hug it out until it doesn't matter anymore.

Not Louis or Zayn.

No, those two are the most stubborn people he's ever met, and when they fight, he's caught in the middle and there's not a thing he can do. 

But just as hard as they fight, they make up. They make up rough, fierce, and angrily; fucking the problem away. It works for them, Harry finds out.

This week, he finds out on a Thursday, when Zayn supposedly wants to show Harry some of his new paintings that may go up in a gallery downtown.

Harry lets himself into Zayn's apartment, using the extra key he made specifically for Louis and Harry despite it being against his landlords policy. The downstairs is completely dark, and he suspects maybe Zayn isn't home, until he notices Louis' shoes on the mat beside the door.

And it all clicks.

Zayn and Louis haven't spoken to each other in two weeks, at least not directly, using Harry as some portable telephone device. And when they do get in the same room, they manage to cuss and yell at the top of their lungs, problems unresolved.

Harry has to spend his nights rotating between their houses; it's not ideal, not a bit, but they apologize, and say they love him, but that the other one is such an idiot, so. It's what he signed up for, he guesses, dating two strong-headed guys.

Upstairs, Harry sneaks up to Zayn's bedroom door and peaks through the crack, not shocked by the findings.

"You're not mad at me, are you?"

"I'm not mad, Lou. Just irritated. Get up here, c'mon."

"Harry's mad at me then."

"He's not."

"It was my fault."

"Stop saying that."

Harry watches Louis climb into Zayn's lap, view at a slight angle from the door, and they're both naked, clothes askew on the carpet. He thinks maybe they've just started, too busy talking about who's to blame than anything else. Harry presses his cheek to the wooden frame and tightens his jaw, tries to stay hidden in the dark of the hallway, feeling somewhat of a creeper spying on his boyfriends.

He likes his private moments with each of them, too. The seconds he can share with Louis away from Zayn, and vice versa. It's important to their relationship as a whole. They need this time alone, to work out their issues, but. 

But he can't pull himself away.

"I miss you," says Louis, runs his hands through Zayn's hair and kisses his chin. It's something he does for him and him only; has certain spots he kisses and touches on each of their bodies, tailored to their own likes, and it makes Harry's palms sweaty.

"I know, love," Zayn strokes along his sides, digs nails into his flesh, and effortlessly lifts Louis up, turns him around onto his belly. He peppers kisses across his shoulders, down his spine, and lifts underneath Louis' stomach to pull him up until he's on all fours. "I miss you, too."

Harry bites his lip, loves the way Louis yields to Zayn, lets him guide his body here and forth; trusts him. Louis' cheek presses to the mattress, his back dipped, bum in the air, spread wide and open. It's perfect, even from this far a distance. Zayn touches every part of him, soft and possessive; his chest, his stomach, thighs and back. He actively avoids his cock, which Harry knows he likes to do - he's always been the best tease. 

"Has Harry been fucking you?" asks Zayn, and something heavy sinks in Harry's gut, mouth open.

Louis nods, as best as he can, rocks his bum back towards Zayn's body. "Of course he has, Zayn. What kind of question is that? You think I stop having sex with him just because you and I have?"

Zayn sinks his teeth into his ass cheek, makes Louis jerk and whine. "I was just asking. I mean, I'm fucking him almost everyday to make up not being with you."

"Shit," laughs Louis. "Me too. Damn, he must be exhausted. I feel bad."

"We'll make it up to him," says Zayn. He sucks at the spot he just bit and kisses inward, pinches apart Louis' ass cheeks and licks at his hole. 

Louis' arms stretch above his head, curls his fingers into the pillows and spreads his legs wider, sighs. He's always so reactive, so tender. Harry's dick swells in his jeans, a rush of blood to his balls that has him gripping the frame to stay upright. He loves to watch his boyfriends together, to see just how different they are with each other than with him. That can get him off almost quicker than anything else. 

Zayn swirls the tip of his tongue around Louis' taunt, pink ring of outer muscle, pulls whiny sounds from Louis' mouth. He's so calm - smug, almost - as he tells Louis to relax, spits at his hole, and slips his tongue inside. 

"Ah, baby," sobs Louis, puts his forehead on the sheets, veins prominent in his neck and jaw. "Miss your gorgeous face fucking my ass. You're so good to me."

Zayn chuckles, low in his throat, and continues to stroke his tongue inside of him, closes his lips around his hole and sucks; wet, obscene noises that has Harry holding the thick line of his cock, biting his lip so hard he threatens to break skin. 

Louis' cock and balls hang heavy between his legs, untouched, and Harry knows if he was in there he'd jerk him off, fast and hard, pull his foreskin over the head of his cock over and over until he unloaded in his palm.

Zayn, however, is already on this. With one hand, he fits a finger in next to his tongue, uses the other to reach under and stroke hard at his cock, eager. Louis' come surges out onto the bed and his body quivers, moaning, curses into the sheets.

Zayn lowers him to his back, hooks Louis' leg over his shoulder and kisses his ankle.

"Did you think I was done with you?"

Louis' blue eyes are blown as he wipes his fringe off his forehead, rolls his hips forward. "I'm not an amateur, fuck off."

Zayn laughs. "I don't know, Lou. Harry's got you beat, made him come three times in one hour."

"Fucking liar," Louis grips his waist and pulls him in, biting his lip. "Don't talk about my boyfriend like he's some sex toy to master."

"You know I'm only joking. And he was my boyfriend first, shut up."

"Oh my God, Zayn, fuck me already."

Harry doesn't know how to feel to hear them talking about him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't spying right now, but do they always do this? Sometimes he does it with them, yeah, but it's so different to hear it; to actually know how he fits into their conversations, even when they're fucking.

He slips his hands into his trousers and grips his cock, tugs hard at the base and up.

Zayn rolls in and slips easily into him, Louis' cock laid onto his stomach semi-hard and leaking. He guides Zayn to him and crushes their lips, fucks his hips up as Zayn thrusts down and it's a perfect rhythm of push and pull. Harry fucks his hand at the same speed, pants against the wood as he listens to the sounds they make; desperate, hungry pleas, skin on skin.

Louis takes hold of his cock, says, "Zayn," but he looks towards the door, seems to meet Harry's eyes. Harry gasps, not sure if Louis can see him or not. He doesn't even care, it only makes him fuck himself harder, shudders when he spills come into his hand as Zayn slams into Louis' ass, saying his name.

They curl into each other, a tangle of sweaty limbs, and lazily kiss. It's slow and gentle; like an apology, a forgiving of the two weeks they bitched at one another. Harry wipes his dirty palm on his jeans and grins, satisfied. He goes to turn away, but Zayn speaks. 

"I wish Harry was here," he says.

Louis nods. "Me too."

"Should we call him?"

"Yeah,"

"Alright," says Zayn, turns away from Louis and yells, "Harry, get in here!"

Harry slams his forehead to the door and groans.

They both laugh as he pushes it open, stands in the archway with his shoulders slump, heat rising on his cheeks and ears. Fuck.

Zayn smirks. "I didn't forget you were coming over, babe."

Harry scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Knew I was here all along?"

"Pretty much, yeah," says Louis, runs a hand through his hair. "Can you get me a glass of water? If we're going to fuck you I need to be hydrated."

Harry licks his lips. "You're going to fuck me?"

Zayn rolls his eyes and leans over to his bedside table, taking out a bottle of lube. "Duh. Now hurry up, all that come on your jeans makes me want to taste you."

Harry spins around and hurries to get that glass of water. He starts to think that maybe Zayn and Louis fighting isn't that bad, or at least, the part where they make up isn't, as long as he's involved.


End file.
